


Subroutine

by festivalofpudding (berreh)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward First Times, Frottage, I for one welcome our new robot overlords, M/M, Robot Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berreh/pseuds/festivalofpudding
Summary: A tech repair guy stumbles upon something unexpected in a collector's closet.





	Subroutine

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Rhett knocked one more time before entering the office. “Mr. Reichmann? It’s Rhett McLaughlin. Your service call? The lady downstairs said to come on up.”

Being told to just waltz into an unlocked office wasn’t that odd, really; these buildings were loaded with security, and he met a lot of eccentrics in this line of work. But someone usually hung around to wait for him: a secretary, an assistant, someone to point him in the right direction and make sure he didn’t pocket the silverware on his way out. Not this time, apparently.

“Mr. Reichmann? Hello?”

The outer office was dark, but a lamp had been left on in the hall. Pinned to it was a note: _Went home early. Left lights on for you. Coffee in kitchen, help yourself. Call lobby if you need anything (I have no cellphone)._ — _C.R._

More lamps led him through a maze of corridors and into a large back room. It was full of all kinds of interesting stuff, but right up front was the 3D printer he’d been called in to repair, and he decided to take care of business before exploring. It was definitely fixable; this guy took good care of his toys, and Rhett McLaughlin never met a machine he couldn’t make sing. Opening his toolkit, he slipped in his earbuds and got to work.

An hour or two passed before he put his tools away, pleased with himself. There was a kitchenette in the back corner; maybe he’d have that cup of coffee after all. In the fridge, though, he discovered something much better: a shelf full of Stella. _Now that’s more like it_ , Rhett thought, and cracked open a cold one to celebrate another job well done.

Now he could finally wander around a bit. He’d been on some weird calls, but this place took the cake: like a cross between _American Pickers_ and the TARDIS, crammed with art and antiques mixed with expensive electronics and futuristic gizmos. This guy must be a serious collector. Rumor had it he was a recluse; he probably spent all his time here. Rhett squeezed past some drone kits to get a look at a broken pinball table — maybe he’d leave a note on it to offer his services. He set down his beer and was digging for a pen when a loud beeping noise suddenly rang out from a nearby closet.

Rhett’s head whipped up, pinball table forgotten. _I didn’t touch anything!!_ The beeping continued; there was an urgency in it that no technician could ignore, and it was getting louder. He moved aside some boxes blocking the closet door and jiggled the knob; it turned, and he eased the door open and flipped on the light.

It was some kind of climate controlled storage room. Inside was a wine cabinet, a walk-in humidor, and between them a piece of equipment unlike anything Rhett had ever seen. It was the size of a refrigerator but looked more like something out of Star Trek: a 7-foot box covered in blinking lights, energy coils humming, and on the front an LED screen flashing red in time with the ominous beeping.

 _//CONTAINMENT MALFUNCTION//_ _  
_ _//STASIS OVERRIDE IN PROGRESS//_

Rhett bit back the urge to panic. This tech was beyond him, but it didn’t take a PhD to know “containment malfunction” couldn’t be a good thing. He looked for a killswitch, a failsafe, anything — the box hissed at him and he jerked back as cold vapor began pouring from the door seals. The display screen changed from flashing to steady red.

 _//STASIS OVERRIDE COMPLETE//_ _  
_ _//ACTIVATION IN PROGRESS//_

The hissing faded; a latch popped open, then another, and the beeping abruptly stopped. The display screen turned from red to green.

 _//ACTIVATION COMPLETE//_ _  
_ _//PLEASE STAND CLEAR//_

This guy could be keeping anything in here — super plagues, alien babies, Mecha Godzilla, lord knew what. One thing was for sure, Rhett had seen enough movies to know the dumbass who opened the box always died first. Time to get the hell out before he started the zombie apocalypse. He was halfway to the door when the cabinet slid open with a loud metallic _whoosh_. Rhett whirled, poised to fight off whatever unholy abomination came flying out at him — but nothing moved. The cold mist evaporated, and his eyes went wide.

Inside was a man. Not a corpse, not a mannequin, but a man: a youngish, well-built man about six feet tall, with strangely pale skin and slick black hair combed back from his forehead. He stood motionless, held upright by a strap around the chest, naked but for a pair of beige trunks. His eyes were closed, and he was not breathing.

For a few seconds Rhett could only stare in bug-eyed disbelief. And then his brain put everything together: a recluse with more money than God; a room full of collected technology; a secret storage closet... this guy had bought himself a robot. A freaking _robot_! He was looking at an actual, honest-to-Asimov android.

Alarms instantly went off in his head, Netflix scenarios of cyborg armies, android assassins, tampering in God’s domain and all that. But this thing didn’t really look all that menacing. If you were building a killer robot, wouldn’t you give it armor or something, maybe some lasers like a Terminator? This one looked like... well, like an underwear model, to be honest. Maybe that was the angle: seduce the target, then kill it. If so, they were on the right track. Someone had spent a lot of time working on that body. Everything about it looked so real... so much detail, even the skin texture...

He didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until the eyes snapped open. Rhett gasped and recoiled — but the thing merely stared straight ahead through eyes far too blue to be human and spoke one word in a toneless voice.

“Active.”

 _Holy shit!_ Rhett scrambled to find the off switch before he wound up dead in a wine cellar with his neck snapped by a Universal Soldier in a stripper outfit. Maybe if he just closed the door—

“Link,” it said. Its eyes stared at nothing, unfocused, unblinking.

“Uh, negative,” Rhett blurted. “Deactivate, or whatever.”

“Link.”

“Abort? Shut down?”

“Link.”

“Turn off! Shh! Go back to sleep!”

“Sleep. Affirrrr…” The voice slurred away and the eyes fell closed.

Rhett sighed in relief. He didn’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit.

He looked for a button to close the door, but instead he found himself standing there, staring at that lifeless face. It looked so human, from the soft cheeks and lips to the black eyelashes and streaks of silver in its hair. It seemed so much like a real person that Rhett felt a pang of guilt at the thought of shutting it back up in its box. The engineer in him wanted to know everything about this technology, but the rest of him just wanted to keep looking at that face. Who made it? What was it for? Why had it woken up?

“Who are you?” he said softly.

The eyes opened. “Link two oh four K three two five point six theta active.”

“...Is that your name?”

“Link,” it said, unseeing, and static crackled in its voice. Panel lights flashed and the loud beeping started up again, even more urgent than before.

“L-link,” it stuttered.

“I don’t know that means,” Rhett said.

The right hand began to open and close spasmodically. “Llllllliiiiiii—”

“I don’t know what ‘link’ is!”

Then he spotted an object attached to the inner wall, right next to the convulsing hand. It looked like a flash drive or memory stick — a startup driver! The noise grew deafening, and Rhett grabbed the drive and shoved it into the grasping fingers. They brought the drive up and plugged it in behind the right ear, and the beeping instantly ceased.

“Link active,” it said. Something whirred and hummed, and the panel lights blinked a few more times before winking out. The eyes moved for the first time: just enough to focus on Rhett.

“Link complete. Imprint in progress.”

“I don’t— I don’t know what that means.”

“Link complete. Imprint in progress.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. What’s your name?” Rhett waved a hand in front of its face, to no avail. “Hello? Name?”

“Link c—”

“I know, I know, link link link.”

“Link.”

“Your name is Link?”

“My name is Link.” It stared at him a moment longer, then blinked once as the whirring noises faded. “Imprint complete.” The glassy vacancy in its eyes abruptly vanished; for the first time it seemed aware, looking at Rhett instead of through him. And then, it smiled.

“Hello. My name is Link. What is your name?”

The voice was mild and pleasant, nothing artificial or sinister. It sounded so natural that Rhett answered it.

“Rhett.”

“Rhett. Imprint confirmed.”

“What does that mean? Are you… what are you?”

“I am a Link Two Oh Four K Three Two Five Point Six Theta Synthetic Device.”

“Device? For what?”

“Function: service.”

 _Are you freaking kidding me?_ Here he was all terrified of getting robo-murdered, and this thing turns out to be a butler? Reichmann must really be a recluse if he’d rather buy a zillion-dollar robot than hire an assistant. Made payroll easier, he supposed.

“Look, uh, there’s been a little mixup here. I just found your, whatever this thing is, and it opened all by itself. How do I turn it off?”

Link tilted his head. “Awaiting instructions.”

“No, I told you, I need to turn you back off.”

“Awaiting instructions.”

“I don’t have any! I shouldn’t even be in here! I’ll just go down and get the lobby to call Mr. Reichmann, okay? He’ll come get you fixed up.”

Link’s eyebrows quirked into an upside down V shape; sort of half confused, half crestfallen, like a disappointed puppy. “Awaiting—”

“Alright! Fine!” Rhett cried. He rubbed his beard, exasperated, and peered into the cabinet. “There’s gotta be a manual in here somewhere.”

In a compartment near Link’s head he found a bag full of more drives and a small tablet. The tablet turned on in Rhett’s hand and a menu screen popped into life with a chipper little tune.

_//Congratulations on your purchase of the all new redesigned Link 204K325.6ϴ Synthetic Pleasure Device!//_

Rhett looked up in horror. “Synthetic pl— You’re a _sex toy_?!”

“Awaiting instructions.”

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up. I don’t even... good lord...”

Frantically Rhett began scrolling through the tablet, searching for the word OFF. Activation sequence, startup link, imprint sequence, download the... wait a second.

 _//IMPORTANT: imprint sequence can be performed_ _only once_ _. Imprint data cannot be overwritten except by hardware reformat. To ensure correct imprint, make certain you are the_ _first person_   _to speak to your device.//_

Oh, shit.

How had this happened? He’d come here to fix a printer, and somehow ended up stealing some guy’s sexbot. There had to be a way to fix this, he told himself; this thing was a machine like any other, and every machine had a workaround. He laid the tablet aside and began digging through the bag of drives — surely one of them was a formatter. They looked like aftermarket mods: all different colors, each one stamped SUBROUTINE and then hand-labeled with phrases that made Rhett’s cheeks grow warm as he read them. It was like an encyclopedia of every kink, fetish, and role-play he’d ever heard of (and several he hadn’t), from fairly tame preferences to twisted deviancies straight out of the Dark Web.

“Awaiting instructions,” Link said.

“Yes, I know! Is that all you can say?”

“Syntax updates in progress. Communication will improve.”

“Fantastic.” Scowling, Rhett pawed through the sordid clutter until he found a drive labeled with the comparatively innocuous title ‘Imprint Modification Algorithm CR’. “Here. Is this what you want?”

Without reply Link plucked the drive from behind his ear and replaced it with the one Rhett handed him. His eyes closed and the whirring returned — _like the freaking Matrix,_ Rhett thought. _Does he know kung fu now?_ A minute or so passed before Link opened his eyes and removed the drive.

“Instructions complete.” He tried to step forward, then glanced down at the strap around his chest. “Error,” he said, and his brow furrowed.

“I, uh, I don’t think I should take that off. I mean, you…”

Link looked up at him, and his eyebrows quirked into the upside down V.

“Oh, hell,” Rhett sighed, and reached for the strap.

They got him out onto the linoleum, and Link wobbled once and stood up straight. He was only six inches or so shorter than Rhett, but he still had to crane his neck to make eye contact. For a few seconds they stood there staring at each other, and then Link said pleasantly, “Thank you, Rhett. I am ready to begin service. Please specify.”

“...Specify what?’

“The subroutine you selected for me requires input. Please specify a desired form of pleasure.”

“Uhhhhh, no, that’s okay. I mean, no thanks, I’m… I’m good.”

Link tilted his head. “Please elaborate.”

“Look, I’m just not into this kind of thing, alright? It’s creepy.”

“Creepy: disturbing, unpleasant.” His brows quirked again. “Subroutine discrepancy. Please specify which part of me is creepy and I will correct the deficiency.”

“No, it’s not you, you’re not deficient. I mean—  well, you’re not, but that’s not what I meant. It’s the principle of the thing, okay? It’s weird. It’s like you’re a slave or something.”

“Slave: a human coerced into service. Inaccurate. You are my imprint.”

“I’m not supposed to be!” Rhett turned and seized the tablet, scrolling desperately through the manual. “Don’t worry, though, I’m gonna figure this out. I will. I’m gonna fix you.”

“Fix: to restore a device to its correct function.”

“Yeah, that’s what I do. I’m a tech guy, I fix things.”

Link tilted his head and blinked. “My function is to give you pleasure. Your function is to ensure that I function correctly. I do not see the error.”

Rhett looked up, but he could think of no argument for that.

Link smiled. “Would you like to fix me now?”

“Uh…”

His syntax might still be awkward, but the rest of him was unsettlingly authentic. He had the kind of smile that lit up his whole face — not just beautiful but endearing, charming, almost boyish in a way despite the silvery streaks in his hair. He looked… happy. Was that even possible?

“If you require a selection, my operating system contains an introductory catalog of 674 sexual acts including—”

“Whoa, hey, slow down!” Rhett took a step back, and Link took a step forward to match. He was uncomfortably close now, and not only did he look like a very real and very attractive mostly naked human man but he smelled like one too: warm and clean, all cold pallor and sterile vapors gone. Rhett cleared his throat and tried to brush off the nervousness in his voice with a laugh. “I mean, you haven’t even kissed me yet, right?”

Link slid his arms around Rhett’s neck, rose on tiptoe, and kissed him.

The movement was so smooth and so perfect, and caught Rhett so off guard, that he closed his eyes and kissed Link back. Damn, he even tasted good: sweet and soft, like buttermints. But the rest of him wasn’t soft — sweet, yes, but not soft. The body in Rhett’s arms was as real as any he’d ever felt: smooth skin, firm muscles, warm flesh, wet lips, and an unmistakable match for the hard-on swiftly springing to life in Rhett’s jeans. He was perfect, really. Rhett sighed and pulled him close, and then Link ground his hip against Rhett’s crotch and he gasped and drew back.

“How did you know I like—”

“You told me.”

“What?”

“The subroutine you gave me is designed for adaptation. I can recognize your verbal, emotional, and physical reactions and respond accordingly to anticipate your desires. I have already done so several thousand times. Heart rate, respiration, blood pressure, pupil dilation, skin temperature, salivation, pheromones—”

“I get the point.”

“The more we interact, the more compatible with you I will become.”

Great. So out of all the programs in that bag of perversions, he’d managed to pick the most unfixable of all. He started to protest, but then Link moved against him again and he had to bite back a moan. The subroutine was effective, he had to admit. Seamless integration. Pinpoint accuracy. Flawless, really. And after all, he thought as Link kissed him, who was he to argue with science?

There was no furniture in the closet and the floor was way too hard, but that didn’t matter because Rhett knew what he wanted. He maneuvered them to the nearest wall and braced his back against it, spreading his feet to support his weight and bring his height down to match Link’s. Those slick little hips fit perfectly between his thighs, and at the contact Rhett swore beneath his breath.

“Do you wish me to stop?” Link asked.

“Hell no.”

Link smiled and ground against him again, and then again. He nuzzled Rhett’s beard ( _oh shit how did he knooooow_ ) and began to trail kisses along his throat and neck and back up to behind one ear. Rhett’s dick was too hard for comfort now, stuck at the wrong angle in his jeans, and he unzipped his fly and slipped a hand inside to pull it free. It pressed against the smooth material of Link’s trunks, so tight and so perfect that his knees went weak. Link moved in perfect tandem, letting Rhett set the rhythm, bearing his own weight, his ass tilting just right for Rhett to get both hands on it and pull him as close as possible. He let his head rest against the wall and closed his eyes, sighing as Link’s hands slipped beneath his shirt and slid up his back. Link’s fingers found the knot near his spine that always kinked up during sex, and applied exactly the precise amount of pressure to stop it from cramping. That was more than he could take, and he clutched that perfect ass so hard it had to hurt and thrust one more time before dropping his head to Link’s shoulder and coming so hard his whole body shuddered. Link held him steady until the last pulse, and when Rhett’s dick began to soften he eased back just enough to let him catch his breath.

“Holy crap,” Rhett gasped.

Link smiled. “You enjoyed that.”

“Uh, yeah.” As he came back to his senses he realized Link was softening too, and arched an eyebrow. “Did you… I mean, can you even..?”

“I am capable of reaching orgasm if you specify it. Do you wish me to do so now? With ejaculation or without?”

“Dude, you’re spoiling the mood.” Rhett wiped a bead of sweat from his face and ran both hands through his disheveled hair. His back would ache tomorrow, but he didn’t care. And hey, maybe it wouldn’t — Link gave a pretty good massage in addition to one hell of a perfect frot.

More perfect than he had bargained for, in fact. Glancing down, he scratched his beard and said, “You don’t happen to have any wet wipes in that outfit, do you?”

“Do you require bathing? If you remove your clothing I can—”

“A paper towel will do.” Rhett looked around, but the closet was as spartan as it was immaculate. He saw no alternative but a quick Summer Camp Scrub. He shucked his shoes and jeans, stripped off his underwear, put his jeans back on, and used the undies to clean himself up as best he could. A few telltale smears remained on his shirt, but they weren’t too noticeable. That was when he remembered the kitchenette — there might be soap and water there. And he could really use another beer.

From outside a male voice called: “Hello?”

Rhett nearly leaped from his skin, fumbling to wad the damp cotton into his pocket as he shouted back, “Who’s there?”

The closet door had closed automatically to keep the temperature correct; now it eased open again to reveal a mild-looking middle aged man in a golf sweater and chinos, sort of a combination Bill Gates and high school librarian. Rather than showing any surprise at finding two men post-coitus in a humidor room, he shook his head with a look of mild disappointment and sighed.

“Well, shoot. I hoped I’d get back here in time.”

“Mr. Reichmann?!” Rhett stammered. Hastily he zipped his jeans and blurted, “I didn’t— this isn’t what it looks like—”

“Please, don’t upset yourself. McLaughlin, wasn’t it? McLaughlin Tech Repair? Did everything work out alright with my printer?”

“....Uh, yeah. It’s good as new.”

“Well that’s great! Thanks so much. I’m sorry about this — that alarm on that cryo unit is so loud, it must have scared you to death.”

Rhett stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You see, I thought I’d set the timer for tomorrow, and by the time I realized I put in the wrong date, I was already home. And this traffic, right? Well, thank goodness you were here. Without a proper startup his neural net might have permanently shorted out.” He looked at Link, who stood by watching all this in bland curiosity. “That would have been a shame. He’s lovely, isn’t he?”

“I, uh….”

“That company does excellent work. I haven’t had a bad unit from them yet.”

“You have _more_ of these things?”

“Yes, of course. Didn’t you meet Shelly downstairs? And Curtis?”

“The security guy?” And the lady at the front desk. Rhett thought of the door staff, the receptionists, the night staff vacuuming in the halls… “You mean all those people are…”

Mr. Reichmann beamed. “Can’t tell, can you? I’m quite proud of that. Link Synthetics are made to be mindless toys, but with the right combination of subroutines they’ll develop their own personality. A neural net is just another kind of brain, after all. If you keep this one long enough, he’ll be as sentient as you or me.”

“What do you mean, keep him?”

“Well he’s no use to me now, is he? I was going to order a second one anyway. I mean, if you don’t want him I’ll give him a job here, but I can see he’s already proven suited to his intended purpose.”

Rhett’s cheeks flared crimson.

“It’s not your fault, of course. This is the first pleasure model I’ve purchased, but I know very well what they can do. Which subroutine did you give him?”

Rhett fetched the drive and handed it over. “This one.”

He squinted at the label and then laughed aloud. “Well, no wonder! No one in their right mind could say no to that algorithm — I wrote it myself. Oh, my. Well, he’s definitely yours now. I couldn’t undo that programming if I wanted to. I’d have to send him back for a reformat.”

“Oh,” Rhett said. Something about that phrase made him uncomfortable, in a different way than his lingering chagrin at being caught out. He didn’t like the idea of Link being reformatted. It seemed… cruel.

“How does this strike you: I’ll give you this one in lieu of your fee, and in exchange you agree to fix up a few more things around here. I have clothes for him you can take. You mustn’t tell anyone, of course — not many people know synthetics exist, and I’m sure you can imagine what might happen if they did. If you don’t want him I’ll have him reformatted, but either way I’ll need your word you’ll keep my secret.”

Either Rhett had finally gone crazy, or this was actually happening.

“Why don’t we ask him?” Mr. Reichmann said, and turned his smile on Link. “What name did they give him?”

“I think I accidentally named him Link.”

“Hmm. Well, actually, that kind of suits him. Link, do you want to stay here and work for me, or would you like to go home with Mr. McLaughlin?”

Link’s eyebrows quirked. “You seem very nice, Mr. Reichmann. But Rhett is my imprint. I would like to stay with him.”

“But he has to say that,” Rhett blurted. “He’s a computer, it’s his program. He doesn’t have a choice.”

Reichmann eyed him with a quirky little smile. “If you say so.”

Rhett looked at Link, who smiled and took a step closer to him. He rubbed his beard with both hands — partly to smooth it down, partly to hide the stupid grin that threatened to take over his face when Link looked at him like that. It was kind of a shame he hadn’t turned out to be an assassin-bot after all; he would be great at it. Once that smile got you in its sights, there was no hope of escape. Rhett reached out to slick back a lock of tousled dark hair, sighed, and gave up the attempt.

“There’s a pinball table out there I was looking at,” he said. “Should I start tomorrow?”


End file.
